


First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 20: The Mage and the Thief

by SkiesOverTokyo



Series: FirstFan NaNoWriMo Drabbles [20]
Category: First Fantasy (Webcomic)
Genre: Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkiesOverTokyo/pseuds/SkiesOverTokyo
Summary: A little background on Lord Cave and a few other characters before they appear in canon.





	First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 20: The Mage and the Thief

A rough wooden table was hardly the place one would expect three of the most powerful guildmaesters in the Capital, let alone a down-at-heel pub like the Crow and Skull. The word pub ill-fitted the Crown and Skull. Everything ill-fitted the Crow and Skull. It looked, to the average person walking by, like a small child’s idea of a house-nothing quite straight, different sized windows, different _styles_ of windows, a porch that sloped up and down at angles that didn’t quite meet in the middle, mismatched steps that hadn’t been laid flat, and a front door that stuck in the winter because it had never really been installed properly. The roof had no fewer than three different styles of tiles, a window in one side of the roof, and, most bizarrely, a crow’s nest-cum-turret that popped out of the roof like, appropriately enough, a crow’s nest.   
  
Inside was no different-the main room had no fewer than six sides-roughly square at one end,  closer to the bar, it was a strange mismatched rectangle that aimed off in no particular direction. The floor sloped downwards from door to door by half a foot. Halfway into this rectangle, a tall, gaunt man, with hair slicked back, and wearing a plain but clearly expensive black coat sat, sipping a glass of bitter, and occasionally checking a pocket-watch that sat on the pitted and scarred wood beside him. Beside him, a number of thick leather journals sat, carefully bound in string. Aside from this man, the inn was almost abandoned. A shorter man, the beginnings of middle aged spread beginning to take the better of an otherwise lean and muscular physique, sat at a table, his back to the gaunt man, pretending they had nothing to do with each other.  
  
The door opened, a figure slipped in, and the door closed with a bang.   
  
The gaunt man sat up, nodded to the newcomer.  
A tall, proud looking woman had entered the room, dressed in fine robes that, somehow, had missed the mud on the road outside, carrying a staff as pure white as her clothing. She nodded back, walked to the bar, and returned to the table with a small glass of whiskey.  
She sat opposite the man, and smiled.  
“He’s gone, you know, Nicodas”  
“Hmm. Is he?”  
  
She nodded, took a sip of her drink, and placed the glass back down, with a small smile.  
“This is, for a pub that looks like such, a good glass. Strange how things that come in poor appearances can be rewarding.”  
“Another of your allegories, Jean?”  
He smirked, showing altogether too many teeth-meant in kindness, there was something menacing about that mouth. A mouth that spoke death, ordered violence and theft.  
  
“Strange, Lord Cage. You used to like them.”  
“They were better in your bed, Lady Midheknight. Just speaking my mind. Many things were easier back then.”  
“You cared, for one.”  
A smile returned. Equally joyless, a mouth that spake fire and blood and things just as unpleasant as his.  
“I still care. He is no longer my concern. He ran, he was disobedient, he got himself caught up in that stupid student riot, and now he sets off in some direction, I know not where.”  
  
She sighed, and ran a hand through wheat-gold tresses.  
“Nicodas, of course he was disobedient! He was a child! Is a Child.”  
She rested her face in her hands, and, slightly muffled, asked the other man  
“Lord Bargeld, where is he going?”  
  
For a moment, the other man did not respond, before, with a sigh, he replied  
“Nord, Milady. One of my little crows saw him making enquiries about a boat, supplies. Of course, as Lord Cave says, the boy is not our concer-”  
“He _is_ our concern”, hissed a voice from the shadows.  
“He _is_ our investment. All of you know that.”  
  
A figure, dressed all in black, stepped out of the shadow of the bar, and, pulling a stool up, sat upon it, looking for all the world like a slightly awkward, and truly colossal crow. No face could be seen below the hood, only more darkness.   
A long mailed hand stretched out and pointed at Cave.  
“Remember this, Cave. The Black Crow King knows all. Find the boy.”  
Cave rose to his feet  
“You invested nothing but a plan, and even that was but a seedling, a cutting, which I and Lord Bargeld and Lady Midheknight nurtured, till it bore fruit, and now you come with hands out, demanding a share of a crop you had no part in sowing. You are no-one to order us around, little shade.”  
  
The figure cocked his head, a laugh, a coughing, choking sound, and with one hand, gestured for Lord Cave to sit down, which, reluctantly, he did, before the figure continued.  
“The Guild of Knowledge knows all, finds all, is all. I am its Lord, and my web of information has strands beyond measure. Be warned, Cave. If you let our little project slip out of sight, I will find it, and when I do, your deeds and plots will be exposed, torn from you…as I expect the Mage’s Guild will do with your guts, should you fail me again.”  
  
A hand went into the cloaks and wrappings, withdrew a hip flask, and, opening it, the hand went into the hood. The three other occupants of the room sat in silence whilst the figure silently drank. The flask went away, and the figure resumed.  
“As for both of you, you will hold him to this quest, else I set my forces upon your pasts. Now, I have better things to do than trifle with your petty little get-together. Farewell.”  
  
He stood, turned, and walked away into the darkness.  
In his place, atop the stool, was a black rose, freshly cut, thorns sharp.  
A warning.  
“What did that devil…that creature want with him? A Rose of Pain is no mere trinket to leave as a parting gift…”  
“Nothing good, that’s for sure. That is no man.”  
“Should we send someone…”  
Cave shook his head.  
“No, Bliza. It’s better we let him stand on his own two feet. He is heading north for a good reason, and _that man_ will find it hard to find him if he plans to go where I feel he will. Come, my friend.”  
  
He stood, bowed to Lady Midheknight  
“Milady, I hope we meet in more favourable times. It has been too long.”  
“Lord Cave…”  
She nodded  
“It has been. I…fear for him, my love.  
Cave nodded, sighed  
“His fate is his own. We knew that from the start.”  
  
And turning, he and the shorter man left the inn, leaving the Vice-Chancellor of the School of Mages with her thoughts.


End file.
